


Lung

by ShirosThighs



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Oneshot, Panic Attacks, Post War, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Songfic, shangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 22:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15204998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirosThighs/pseuds/ShirosThighs
Summary: The war is over and everyone is back home on Earth. There aren't any physical dangers around, but no one mentioned the mental trauma a war would leave behind.





	Lung

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to the song Lung by Vancouver Sleep Clinic and for some reason thought of Shiro and wrote this up instead of finishing an essay. It's all about priorities after all. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

_"Can somebody help me out?_  
_I can’t find my feet  
___Can somebody help me out?"____

The room was quiet, still, the only noises detectable to the human ear being the soft ticks of a clock.

Tick. Tick  
Breathe in  
Tick. Tick  
Breathe out

Ragged gasps filled the air, desperately trying to mimic the sounds but failing.

Failure was not an option. Failure meant someone died, and he couldn’t take another loss, he couldn’t. Each death had carved its own grave inside of him, forcing him to remember.

_Ican’tdothisanymoreIcan’tbreatheIcan’t-_

A hand shot out to steady himself, clutching onto the wall. His own panicked breathing filled his ears, and Shiro struggled to get ahold of himself. He was the black paladin of Voltron, a leader, defender of the universe, he should be able to get himself picked up, steady breaths, you can do this it’s simple really come on you’re the black pala-

But he wasn’t

The war had ended months ago, and his apartment lacked the sounds of battle and life that the castle had reflected. With those things gone, with the lack of family and support close by, without someone forcing him to sleep, to eat, to take time for himself and make sure he was happy, Shiro didn’t really know who he was anymore. It was supposed to be easier when they got home, so when had the war changed from the battlefield, to an invasion of his mind?

_"I’m sinking in the deep_   
_Can somebody pick me up?"_

His knees hit the ground with a loud thud. Absently he realized he was having a panic attack, something Shiro had talked about with his therapist. He was supposed to breathe, even when each lungful of air burned. The irony, something that gives life only causing pain. If he could’ve, the former leader would’ve laughed, but the action seemed impossible and pointless at the moment.

_"The voice is too loud_   
_I’m losing in the crowd"_

PTSD. That’s what they had prescribed him with. Written it down on a sheet of paper and sent him home with a therapist’s number and a bottle of pills like it was going to solve everything. It was getting harder to differentiate between what was reality and past memories, past horrors.

The screeching of metal, no, the pan moving against the burner

Gunshots, no, late night fireworks. A celebration. When had he started to loathe celebrations?

Shiro ran a hand messily through his shaggy hair, the strands long and unkempt.

_"Because I can’t breathe_   
_I can’t breathe"_

A choked sound made its way past his lips, the start of a sob building up in his throat. Shiro’s chest hurt, ached, and the corners of his eyes started to burn. How much longer? How much longer could he go on like this? When was the last time he had eaten a proper meal, slept more than a few hours?

When was the last time he smiled, laughed? Felt free and light as a feather? Probably the last time he had been with his team, but Shiro had severed his connection between them for weeks now. Being with them meant remembering, and there was just too much that he wished he could forget.

_"Because I, can’t breathe_   
_Somebody help me out"_

A prosthetic arm scrambled to find purchase, legs failing him for a moment as he half stumbled to his dresser, slapping his hand on top before taking another try and shakily grabbing his phone. So weak, Shiro was so weak right now, but he needed someone with him so bad it hurt, and that was enough to outweigh any other fears or doubts he previously had about calling.

He scrolled to a number he had hesitated calling for a long time, firmly clicking it before pressing the phone to his ears, the dial tone ringing loudly in them. And ringing. And ringing. And ringing. And ring-

_“Hey, this is Keith. Sorry I couldn't come to the phone right now, but if you leave your-_

Shiro felt the tears break free, staining his cheeks as he sobbed through the receiver, ugly cries filtering through as he clutched the phone to him like it would make Keith appear, like he finally wouldn't be alone anymore. The message continued to play, but Shiro didn’t notice, not even when it beeped and started recording a voice message.

“Keith, please, I need someone here with me so bad, I-I, please, I need you, please please please-”

_"Can somebody help me out?"_


End file.
